


we move lightly.

by courage_of_stars



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Past Violence, Romance, Scars, Showers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courage_of_stars/pseuds/courage_of_stars
Summary: And he sees thicker scar tissue colored muted rouge. Like an angry brush stroke attacking a weary canvas.---(Bond discovers more of Q's scars.)
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 18
Kudos: 139





	we move lightly.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: scars, implied NSFW, past violence

On the surface, Q is all elegant lines and graceful form. The way his posture holds upright with shoulders back. His hands drawing shapes in the air when he talks. Sometimes giving a sharp flick for emphasis, like a conductor leading an orchestra. A frighteningly, piercing light emits from cadmium green eyes. This gaze does not simply observe. In scrutinizing silence, those eyes dissect anything in their focus. All while revealing nothing in return. Q is living proof that one does not need to wave a gun around to be intimidating. The young man is a force of nature in his own right.

Under overlarge sweaters, simple slacks, and more layers of neutral colored fabric-- Q is a graveyard of scars. As a man who's not a stranger to injuries, Bond can take a decent, educated guess at how different types of scars form. A starburst from a gunshot nests upon Q's right thigh. The thick rise of scar tissue across the shoulder is likely from a grazing bullet. Ripples and spiderwebs across the back are the remnants of burns.

And more. And more. And more.

There's seemingly no end to these scars. With how they vary in density and color, Bond can assume that Q was injured over a period of time. A jagged diagonal spanning over Q's chest has stretched and distorted over the years. It's likely the wound occurred when Q was an adolescent. Perhaps even a mere child.

There are scars not hidden by fabric. They're secrets buried under cosmetic concealer. Bond sees them for the first time while standing behind Q in the shower. Q rinses the shampoo out of his dark hair. The cascading water, and residual soap melts away the facade around Q's neck. Blue eyes grow stormier by the second. In tandem silent horror, dread and heartache crescendo within Bond. More of the concealer wipes away as Q's fingers brush against his skin.

Like a developing photograph revealing itself, traces of ligature marks stare back at Bond. Thin white lines run across Q's throat. Molten, pale scarlet touches the edges. Not just one. Not two. But several lines disrupt the area.

Bond circles his arms around the young man, and presses his lips against the scarred marks. Q pauses. Hands pausing in mid-air. A few fingers still curled in dark locks. Everything is still and silent save for the falling shower water, and rumbling air vents. The quiet remains unbroken as Q turns, so they're facing each other. Bond sees the ligature marks circle around Q's throat.

And he sees thicker scar tissue colored muted rouge. Like an angry brush stroke attacking a weary canvas.

Inhaling deeply, Bond stares at his partner. Conflicted blues lock with unfathomable greens. Bond follows the thin rivulets of water streaming down. After a prolonged moment, Q nods.

Bond traces his fingers along the path where a blade once lacerated across flesh. White, hot fury poisons Bond. It's quiet rage. The kind of anger that can bide its time in order to calculate the best kill. No. Murder is too generous. It's not often that missions call for 007 to deliver torture. But it certainly doesn't mean Bond lacks knowledge of various techniques. He'll hunt down each and every person that dared to lay an ill hand upon Q. The more Bond listens to the siren call of revenge, the more all other sounds fade away.

Except for one.

A voice.

The same voice that speaks in Bond's ear during assignments. Reminding Bond to bring back all equipment. Leading him through burning buildings. Carrying restrained notes of concern, sometimes even panic. Laced with warmth saved only for him. Guiding him back home.

"James."

For the first time, silence breaks in the bathroom. Q's fingers rest over the back of Bond's hand. 

"I'm okay."

The soft, low timbre of Q's voice quells the bloodthirst. For now. Bond takes hold of Q's left hand, then kisses the back of it. His lips drift until reaching the ring finger. As Q's other hand rests on the side of the agent's neck, they draw in closer for a kiss. It's slow, deep, smoldering. 

And it only burns more as they trade touches while making their way out of the shower, hastily drying themselves off. Just when Q slips on a sleeve of a button down shirt, Bond lifts the young man.

"James!" The exclamation's punctuated with a burst of Q's laughter. It's a rare sound that only Bond gets to hear. Bright. Innocent. Pure. "You absolute heathen, put me down!"

"Alright." Having carried Q into the bedroom, Bond unceremoniously lays him down on the bed.

The lack of Bond's charm and grace only makes the young Quartermaster laugh again. After his hair's been dried from the shower, the dark locks curl even more. He's nearly drowning in James' shirt. "Is this how you seduce people in missions these days?"

The inquiry's given between gasping laughs. But Bond doesn't miss the underlying vulnerable traces. The amusement masks quiet, forlorn melancholy. With his forearms by Q's head, Bond leans down. 

"I don't use such tactics anymore." Bond brushes some of the bangs back, so he can see his lover's eyes. The man states a simple truth: "I'm only with you."

Q falls silent. More wavering vulnerability makes itself seen in his eyes. Q studies Bond with intense focus. Not as if Bond's an encrypted code to decipher. But as if the man's another J.M.W. Turner oil painting hanging on the museum wall. Never has Q outright asked Bond for any kind of exclusivity. It doesn't seem like it's something Q can ask of a Double-Oh agent. Especially not James Bond.

"Is that...okay?" Rare hesitation stilts Q's words. His manner of speech is always concise and structured. But tonight, there are flickers of something open and raw. "For your work, I mean. If-- if it's detrimental-..." Words trail off as Q's gaze drifts elsewhere. Closing his eyes, Q breathes in slowly. 

"Darling." Softly, Bond kisses the corner of a closed eye. His lips linger for a moment. "It's absolutely okay." Bond's hand cradles the side of Q's head. Calloused fingers curl into those wonderful dark waves. "Actually, I think the agency is quite appreciative of it. Your branch doesn't need to listen to any-- ah, mature activities. And M doesn't need to read about them either." Bond brushes his lips over Q's temple, then smiles at him. "My missions have all been successful. Still earning top scores."

Q's eyes remain closed for a few seconds longer. When he feels tears recede, Q looks at his partner. "Don't preen just yet," Q says with a hint of an endeared grin. "You know _what_ you're _losing_ points for, don't you?" When the Double-Oh agent feigns a contemplative moment, Q sighs in exasperation. _"James."_

Thoughtfully, Bond hums. "Does it perhaps have anything to do with returning equipment...?" 

"Returning _damaged_ equipment," Q corrects with his signature austere deadpan. "Or lack thereof entirely. It would be most preferable if you bring back what the organization lends you. Intact. Whole. In one piece." Q's ready to read off a thesaurus if needed.

"Ah, I see." Bond nods, then flashes a charming smile. "I'll keep that in mind, Quartermaster."

Q's ongoing deadpan speaks of his skepticism. But the expression doesn't carry its full scathing effect. Warm fondness burns like a low fire in Q's eyes. And soon, the thin line from a subtle frown curves into a soft smile. There's a playful secret in that evergreen gaze. It sparks brighter with flecks of gold, and laughter under Q's breath.

Good lord.

Bond is so in love.

And so is Q. 

The quiet goes on as Bond and Q draw in closer. Their hands roam across warm skin. Neither of them shy away from the multitude of scars. Another day, they'll ask about the origins behind vestiges of past wounds.

Tonight, they map out their lover's body. Every curve. Every plane. They know each other so well, yet still hunger to explore more of these uncharted waters. Slowly, they mark over scar tissue with scarlet blemishes. Even a few indigo fingerprints. Amidst the chaos, they feel the fractures marring their bodies blaze with gold. Mouths give devotion. Hands give worship. 

Along the lines marring Q's throat, Bond burns three words, and seals them with a kiss. Q reaches for Bond's left hand. For too long, their bodies have known nothing, but violence.

It's time they're given something kinder, something brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed my first 00q story. I'm grateful for any kudos and comments ♡♡ Stay safe and take care!
> 
> REFERENCES / INSPIRATION:  
> Fic title: ['We Move Lightly' - Dustin O'Halloran](https://youtu.be/ePOBd-IHM9E) \+ [Live ver.](https://youtu.be/a7r_sykW9iM)


End file.
